


all that you believe is here and now

by Meskeet



Series: 2015 Year of Tuesday Fic [6]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But It Gets Happy!, Canonical Character Death, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers-centric, angst like whoa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things that never happened to Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all that you believe is here and now

**Author's Note:**

> Originally that was going to have a +1 (and I won't deny the possibility I might stick a 'one thing that did' on there) but my internet's boggy and I'm coming down with some happy, happy illness. I wrote this way back when TWS came out, and figured I should clean it up and post it. This is one of those fics where you can read just about any pairing from it, and is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster on its own. 
> 
> Thanks to Tenebrielle, Shazrolane, and red_b_rackham at thebetabranch, and Red Tigress for looking this over,

1\. Steve’s twenty-three and still not enlisted in the Army.

It’s not an obligation, not really. Steve’s been listed as 4-H four times at this point, and he’s starting to get the memo that no matter how much he wants to be in the Army, the Army doesn’t want him. That’s not enough to stop Steve from trying, however.

“Sorry, son,” the recruiter says, flicking through the file he just picked up. This has to be a record. The guy’s barely looked at the first page before rejecting him. Aren’t the recruiter supposed to _want_ to fill their quotas?

“Look, just give me a chance-“

“I am. I’m saving your life.”

Except Steve doesn’t want for anyone to save his life. He just wants to have a chance to save someone else’s, even if no one seems to be able to understand him.

“Please,” Steve tries as a doctor emerges from the recruiting office. If someone will just _listen_ to him, if he could just try to _explain_  –

“Look, you’re holding up the line,” the recruiter replies, cool but not unsympathetic. It’s obvious Steve’s already been dismissed in his mind, because his gaze moves from Steve to the room beyond him. Steve’s accustomed to being overlooked, but it still stings as the man calls out the next name.

“Steve?” Steve startles as Bucky’s hand clasps around his arm. He turns and can see Bucky putting the pieces together, can see the moment when Bucky goes from confused to annoyed to hurt to downright _pissed_. Steve stumbles as Bucky yanks him out of place, gritting his teeth as he has no choice but to follow Bucky out of the office. It’s not the first time he’s wished that he’s had Bucky’s strength, and Steve’s sure that it’s far from the last.

“Steve, what the hell were you thinking?” Bucky hisses as they turn the corner and he finally releases Steve from his tight grasp. The expo around them is still bright and loud, but the vibrancy – the _draw_ \- has gone out of it. “You can’t just try to enlist. You could be thrown in jail or worse.”

“Or worse?”

“Damn it, Steve. What if they actually say _yes?_ ”

“Then at least I’ll be out there doing something,” Steve gestures to Bucky, uniform and all. “Look at you, Buck. At least you get to do more than just sit here and wait for the war to end. At least you’ll be able to do more than buy bonds, go to expos, and ration.”

Bucky smiles, but it’s a sad, solemn thing. “What are you going to do if you have an asthma attack in the middle of a firefight? What if you can’t make out where a sniper’s firing from because your eyes are too bad? You can’t even run a mile, Steve, and you want to run to war.”

Steve stares back at him, but the defiance and anger slowly drains out of him. It’s quite possibly the last time he’ll ever see Bucky, and they’re fighting about Steve enlisting rather than enjoying the expo they’d come to see. Still, the thought can’t erase the hurt that’s replaced the anger. This is one of the issues where Bucky and Steve will never be able to meet halfway – the fact that Bucky would rather protect Steve than let Steve risk himself protecting others.

Still, Steve has to admit Bucky has a point. Bucky knows him well enough to know that pointing out Steve could get someone else killed is enough to make Steve back off.

For now, that is. Steve’s sure there has to be a way to fix it. To fix him. He just has to find it, and if he keeps looking, maybe one day he will.

Bucky’s waiting for him to speak up and concede the point, but Steve _can't_ , no matter how much he wishes he could drain all the tension filling Bucky’s face. “C’mon,” he says, instead. “Let’s go see Stark try to fly a car again.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, but takes the cease-fire while he still can. “Bet I can pick up more dames than you.”

It’s no surprise that Bucky does, in the end. Steve doesn’t begrudge him that fact as Bucky grows more and more tense as the night wears on. Instead, he shares a drink with his best friend and toasts him cheerfully.

Bucky’s quiet when they part, and Steve can feel a slight tremble as Bucky lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay out of trouble, kid,” Bucky says.

“Trouble finds me, punk,” Steve replies.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Bucky shakes his head, and turns away a tad too quickly. “See you around, Stevie.”

Steve doesn’t know it at the time, but the last sight he ever has of Bucky is his best friend turning and vanishing into the crowd.

Steve Rogers never stops trying to get to Europe (and after Europe, the Pacific), but eventually the government seems to wise up. He spends some time in jail once he accidentally runs into the same recruiter twice, but the judge is surprisingly sympathetic to his cause so he doesn’t stay long.

 Bucky sends him a scalding letter when he hears about it, of course, and Steve replies with a not at all apologetic missive. He doesn’t receive a reply to his own letter, and it’s not until he receives a telegram from the Army ( _Mr. Rogers, as commanding officer of the 101 st, it is my duty to inform you that Sergeant James Barnes is missing and presumed dead in action. As next-of-kin to Sgt. Barnes, his belongings will-)_ that he realizes why.

Still, it’s not until one of the few prisoners rescued from Zola by the supposed-missing Captain America shows up his doorstep and says, “I served with Bucky,” that Steve knows Bucky is truly, utterly, gone.

* * *

2\. Steve Rogers is twenty-four, but that doesn’t make him too young to be a lab rat for Zola, apparently.

He doesn’t realize what happened at first when he wakes up bound to a table. The last thing he can remember is helping Bucky through Hydra’s compound, running as the building went on in flames, and jumping across the catwalk.

No, not jumping. Falling from the catwalk. Steve doesn’t ever remember hitting the ground.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Steve recognizes that wavering voice, and startles. For a moment, he thinks the restraints will give – there’s a slight ripping sound – but they hold firm. He’s gagged, so the most he can do is roll his eyes to the side and try to find the speaker.

It’s Zola. Of course it’s him.

“Sorry about the restraints,” the man doesn’t sound apologetic at all, “but it would not do to have you get free after all the work we’ve put into repairing you.”

Personally, Steve doesn’t really think it would be a bad thing.

The gag’s removed as Zola’s feet tread a pattern over the ground. “You’re quite a marvel, really,” the man states. Steve hears the rustle and clang of equipment. “We received some photographs of what you looked like before my colleague got his hands on you. It’s quite remarkable. One has to wonder what Erskine could have done with a specimen already in peak condition. Almost a pity he was killed, as I would have loved to pick his brain.”

“What happened?” Steve asks, because it doesn’t seem like Zola’s going to fill in of his own accord.

“At our facility? You fell trying to rescue your friend. Imagine our surprise when we came back after the Allied forces left and you were still alive, despite our best attempts. Granted, you weren’t in much shape after the explosion to be of any use until now. It seems that while you do heal at a remarkable rate, your body shuts down after too much external stress is inflicted.”

Steve tries to pull against the restraints again, but there’s little give in the heavy straps. Zola makes a rather impatient noise. “None of that, Captain Rogers,” he says. “While it’s certainly helpful for you to be awake, I can make do without.”

“Sorry to be an inconvenience,” he replies despite himself.

“Yes, yes, you’re rather good at that,” Zola grumbles. “We’ve had to move at least three times because your loyal subordinates keep trying to track you down. Still, in a few months they shouldn’t be a problem.”

 _That_ catches Steve’s attention. “What is Hydra planning to do?” he demands.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Zola brushes off his question. Steve again yanks at the bonds, gritting his teeth as the fabric cuts into his skin. “Soon you’ll be just as enthusiastic about Hydra’s eventual control as the rest of us.”

There’s the prick of a needle in his arm and it’s then that Steve realizes he lost track of Zola in his determination to escape.

“Never,” Steve hisses. “You can’t make me-“

Except the bright lights above his head had begun to fog over, despite how he tries to squint his eyes and keep them focused. Zola’s face looms above him, and there’s something in his hand… a knife, maybe? Steve tries to yank away, but the only strength he has left is equitable to what he’d had before Erskine had turned him into… this.

“You will find, Captain Rogers,” Zola says, and it’s like Steve’s drowning on air. He can’t make sense of anything, whatever Zola had given him turned the world into murky shards, into an ocean forming in his lungs, “That I have all the time in the world to do so.”

(There’s ice in Steve’s veins and blood on his hands the next time he wakes up, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to scrub it away. Steve opens his eyes and sees Bucky’s face staring back at him, pale, startled, desperate, haunted.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

And then there’s relief in Bucky’s face, like the morning sun breaking over the once-stormy seas. Bucky smiles even though his gun is levelled at Steve’s head. “You back with me, or am I going to have to shoot after all?”)

* * *

3\. Steve is twenty-five and is more than a little relieved the serum helps insulate him from the cold.

Still, he breathes a sigh of relief as Bucky slides the train door shut behind the two of them. Carefully, the two of them creep through the train, Bucky’s gun held at the ready even as Steve prepares his shield to block any incoming fire. He’s never been more at ease than he has these past months, despite the war going on around them. It’s comforting to know that Bucky has his six and that he’s able to have Bucky’s in return.

There’s something unnerving about this softly creaking train, so Steve has little qualms about the gun in his hand. He hesitates in the junction between cars, glancing back to briefly meet Bucky’s eyes. Bucky gives him a small nod in return, and Steve steadies at the confirmation that Bucky’s ready to defend his back.

And the door slams shut between them.

Steve and Bucky lunge at the same time, but they’re a beat too late. There’s no time for regrets, though, because Bucky whips around and begins to fire even as Steve hears the sound of heavy, booted feet approaching. He can’t let himself think of the shots being traded in the other compartment, because he has his own problems to worry about. Bucky can take care of himself, after all. He’s spent a lifetime taking care of Steve.

Their separate fights are quick and too long at the same time. Steve knocks out his assailant with a blow to the head, and it takes a simple rough hit to open the door between the two of them. It’s a simple matter to toss Bucky a gun and even simpler to take out the shooter together.

Apparently, however, Steve hadn’t managed to take care of things entirely well on his own end.

The blast sends the two of them flying, and Steve winces at the ringing in his ears. He collapses against the train’s wall, shaking his head as he tries to make sense of the suddenly blurring world. When he looks to the side, he can see Bucky standing defiantly, gun and shield in his hand as the seemingly-unstoppable foe approaches.

 _No,_ something in Steve whispers, because he can only see one way for this to end.

Even as Bucky turns slightly, bracing his feet against the cool metal floor of the train, Steve knows it won’t be enough. If Steve with his enhanced strength couldn’t stand against a single shot, Bucky who is just an ordinary man, certainly will not.

Steve blinks, and for a moment the hazy world focuses.

There’s only ever been one way for this to end. Bucky’s spent a lifetime protecting Steve.

Maybe this is Steve’s turn to return the favor.

He tucks himself, flinging forward even as the whine of the gun begins. For a moment, his hands are back on his shield, and he and Bucky brace against the blast together.

Then, the shot hits. Steve didn’t have time to brace himself against it, and the shield’s rim snaps back to hit his already aching head. He’s not even aware he’s pulled the shield from Bucky’s hands until he flings it back at the Hydra agent, sending the man crashing once more to the ground.

For good, Steve hopes in a daze, because he’s staggering backwards and can’t seem to get his bearings. He tries to lean against the wall, but it hits him as an afterthought that part of the train had been taken out by the first deflected shot.

“Steve!” Bucky howls, and it’s then that Steve realizes he’s falling. “Steve!”

There’s a fleeting moment of weightlessness, and Steve can feel Bucky’s fingers ghosting over his own. For a moment, Steve meets Bucky’s eyes.

He wants to say something, but he’s already falling, fingers closing around nothing but air. He’s not sure what he would have said, so that’s okay. Maybe he wants to point out that he’s just repaying the favor Bucky had been giving to him for years. Maybe he wants to mention how right the shield looked in Bucky’s hands.

Maybe it didn’t matter at all what Steve wanted to say. He’s pretty sure Bucky isn’t going to ever forgive him for this, but in Steve’s mind, that’s okay too.

* * *

4\. Steve is sixty-five but still thinks he’s twenty-six like the last time he opened his eyes.  
  
He doesn’t know his age, not yet. He wakes on a warm sofa in a cool lab, back aching despite the serum as he sits up. Apparently, being a super soldier hadn’t left him immune to the punishment of sleeping on a sofa too short for his body.  
  
Steve looks around curiously, trying to piece things together. He doesn’t remember much, doesn’t really remember anything at all besides the sound of Peggy’s voice whispering his name, a final farewell and plea all in one.   
  
_Steve._  Her voice echoes in his memory, and he blinks as he takes the room in. It’s a lab - just as he’d noticed when he first sat up. Maybe he shouldn’t feel at ease in a lab, but he does. He’s spent enough time in Howard’s lab - had been made into Captain America in a lab - that he doesn’t feel much of a threat from whomever owns this one.  
  
There’s… technology beyond what he’s seen before. He thought that Hydra had advanced technology, but whoever rescued him reached… _decades_ beyond what Hydra had been capable of without the Tessaract. There’s also a toy in the corner - a broken action figure that Steve recognizes, with a wry smile, as himself. He can’t help but wonder who it belongs to as he stands on shaky legs, head spinning.   
  
He takes a moment to recognize the sound of the door opening - it’s a faint swoosh rather than the familiar sound of a latch clicking. He turns, and it’s only from spending a lifetime of pretending everything is fine that he manages to keep his jaw clenched shut.  
  
“-really necessary? I know him, we worked together during the war. He won’t-” the man breaks off as he catches sight of Steve staring in ill-disguised shock at him. “Oh.”  
  
Steve can’t stop his eyes from flickering at the doorway. It’s blocked by what seems to be another scientist, if the lab coat and heavy briefcase are any indication. Steve returns his gaze to the man, who is gaping back at him.  
  
“I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. We just dug you out a couple days ago, and while the formula certainly worked wonders we didn’t think it could do anything like… this.” The man waves his hand in an empty gesture and Steve blinks again. “It’s remarkable, really. The serum’s done so much for you - imagine how many advances could be made in the medical field if we had the original forum in our hands. I’ve been trying for years to replicate it, but every sample we had after the wars has been useless for a while. Maybe now that we have you back, we’ll be able to do more work. Imagine it, Steve! Changing the world again.”  
  
It’s that feeling - the feeling of meeting this man’s gaze and knowing that he’s viewed as a science experiment rather than as an actual human being - that lets Steve open his mouth and say -  
  
“Stark?” Steve asks, that’s all that he can make come out. He’s fairly certain that the last thing he remembers is the plane going down - of falling into the ice and the finality that came with the knowledge there would be no deliverance for him. Slowly, Steve raises his hands, looking at them with some surprise even as he shivers.  
  
He shouldn’t be surprised by chill that’s stolen the warm from his body, yet he is. Absentmindedly, Steve rubs his hands against his forearms, sitting up and feeling a surge of dizziness.  
  
Stark moves faster than expected, going from several feet away to in his face, and Steve startles. His reflexes are sluggish, it seems, as though Steve is still fighting his way out of the ice. Stark’s face is… different. It’s begun to be lined by age and is thinner than Steve remembers. His hair has begun to thin as well, and Steve blinks.  
  
“Stark?” Steve asks, and he can hear the tone of uncertainty rising. “You look-”  
  
“Older?” Howard Stark tries to smile, and doesn’t quite succeed.  
  
Steve swallows thickly, and shivers again. Stark’s eyes have taken on an discomforting light, one Steve had hoped the two of them had gotten past by now. There it is, the same look that had jarred recognition. That feeling that Steve’s running some kind of test and he’s not quite sure what it is.  
  
“Yeah,” is all he can think of as a suitable reply. “You look older.”  
  
“Well,” Stark replies, and Steve can see him swallow. Stark’s stepped back, and the increased distance between the pair doesn’t make things any better. Steve sits up, wincing as the joints in his back crack slightly. “It’s only been… how long has it been?”  
  
“Thirty-nine years, about,” said the other scientist. “Hello, I’m Doctor Irving. Have you noticed anything different since you woke up? Physically, I mean.”  
  
He blinks. “Decreased reaction time, cold body temperature, dizziness and noticeable fatigue.” The list trips off his tongue automatically, and he can’t help but think of the days when his parents stretched funds after he’d had a particularly awful asthma attack. Although he’d taken a quick inventory of his condition, he’s still stuck on the _thirty-nine years_  part.   
  
Steve opens his mouth, and shuts it before he can say anything. Slowly, he pushes Stark out of the way and stands up. At first, he almost falls but he brushes away both scientists and takes several unsteady steps forward.   
  
He reaches a sliding glass door, and catches sight of his reflection. He looks the same, the same as he had ever since the serum. No muscle atrophy, hair the same length as ever, not an ounce of weight lost. Howard, by contrast, looks… not just older, but more tired. Stretched out and exhausted and all his reactions a moment or emotion off from when and how and what Steve’s memories want them to be like.  
  
“I went… down. Into the water,” he spoke slowly, quietly. “You pulled me out?”  
  
“Yes,” Howard follows him, and once again intrudes into his personal space without any forewarning. Being the sole object of Howard’s attention - which happens rarely, considering he’s always thinking of some invention or another - is akin to being under a microscope. Steve doesn’t like it at all. “We’ve been looking in the arctic for years, and got a ping back a few weeks ago. We pulled you out about six days ago, and left you sedated while you de-thawed.”   
  
Steve swallows.  _De-thawed._  He doesn’t want to follow where that imagery leads.  
  
“The war?” It should have been the first thing out of his mouth, really it should have. It’s like he’s clawing his way out of some terrible, terrible dream and is caught between the moment where he wakes up and falls into a deeper sleep. He wants to ask about Peggy, but fear trickles into his chest and keeps his mouth closed for now.  
  
“We won. I helped, of course,” there’s that quirk of the Howard that Steve remembers, that hubris that implies he’d singlehandedly led armies and dropped bombs all across Europe. “Remind me to show you some of my new inventions. I have some old toys you might appreciate looking at - could never get some of them to work, but-”  
  
Steve lets the stream of words wash over, and around him. He closes his eyes. For a moment, it’s like he’s back in the war and Howard’s trying to get him to listen to some new invention or another. Then he opens them, and sees Howard’s too-old face staring back at him in the mirror.  
  
“Dad?”  
  
The words are muffled by the glass door, but it soon slides open. It is a kid - can’t be more than ten or so - who had spoken. At first, he looks sullen, dragging his heels as he enters the room, but the second he sees Steve the expression drops away. The sulk’s replaced, for just a moment, by astonishment and intrigue.  
  
“I’m busy, Tony,” Howard says hastily, casting Steve a sharp glance. Steve crouches down, his aching muscles moving easier now.  
  
“Hi,” the kid says, and his eyes dart from Steve to Howard to the doctor forgotten behind them both. “Did my dad finally find you? You’re Captain America, right?”  
  
Steve glances at Howard, seeing the way his face has tightened at the intrusion. Maybe that tight, cold expression is what causes Steve to cast a quick smile at the kid. “I guess he did,” he agrees. “And I am. Or I used to be.”  
  
The kid - what had Howard called him again? Tony? - smiles then, if a bit shyly, and Steve remembers the toy dropped on the lab floor. “Did you really rescue an entire corps from the Nazis just because your friend was in there?”  
  
“Not an entire corps,” Steve corrected, aware of Howard’s terse gaze on the two of them. “But-”  
  
“Tony, what are you doing in here?” Howard interrupted. “Doctor Irving and I are in the middle of something important.”  
  
Tony’s open curiosity snaps shut, and there’s that sullen expression from earlier. He shifts from one foot to another, and his eyes goes from Steve to Howard to Irving and back to Howard, where they stay. He looks… wary. It takes Steve a minute to place the tight jaw, tense shoulders because it belonged more on Howard defying military superiors than on a kid probably in elementary school.  
  
“Jarvis needs you. I think it’s SHIELD.”  
  
“How do you-” Howard cuts himself off. “Nevermind. Irving, can you run the tests without me?”  
  
_Tests._ The word makes Steve shift on his feet despite himself. He can tell Tony caught the motion, and when the boy looks at him in concern, gives him a reassuring smile. Steve’s saved from having to speak when his stomach growls. It gets a belated answering grin from Tony, but the amusement disappears as soon as Tony realizes he’s being watched.   
  
“Lunch first?” Steve asks plaintively, looking at Irving. The words work as intended - Tony perks up and Howard scowls at the memory that, despite the serum, Steve’s just human. “I can’t remember the last time I had some pizza.”  
  
Irving looks a little put-off by his demotion to pizza guy, but Steve’s focus is still on Tony. Howard’s already gathering files and, when Steve glances over, he catches sight of his own picture on one of the pages. He’ll address that later, he decides.   
  
“Tony, come-” Howard starts, but Steve cuts him off.  
  
“Mind leaving him with me?” he keeps his posture relaxed and open even as he jumps over what was probably a dismissal. “I could use someone to talk me through current events.”  
  
Howard looks… surprised, but he doesn’t match the astonishment in Tony’s eyes. There’s also a trace of hero worship there, which catches Steve off-guard. There’s still a wary look on the younger Stark’s face, but Steve apparently will have time to take care of that.  
  
“Fine, fine, yeah that’s fine,” Howard’s words roll over one another. He’s already distracted, already moving onto his next conversation with whoever’s waiting for him from whatever SHIELD was.   
  
“I’ll be back soon,” Irving says, and his words carry a promise of tests and needles and experiments upon his return. It makes Steve catch his breath for a moment, but he gives the man a friendly nod. He hasn’t done anything yet to earn Steve’s distrust, after all.  
  
“Thanks,” there’s genuine gratitude in his voice and he hopes the doctor hears it.  
  
Steve rises with a wince, and waves his hand at the couch. Howard’s already bustling out with a vague promise to return and  _don’t go anywhere, Steve_. Steve’s honestly surprised the man had stayed as long as he did.  
  
It leaves Tony alone in the room with Steve. Steve leads the way to the couch, and Tony drags a chair too large for him over.   
  
“So, where do we start?” Steve asks, leaving the choice open to Tony.  
  
Tony frowns at him, and then his whole face lights up. “I’ve been working on something - it’s an electronic catalog, it should help us do some basic searches. Jarvis is helping me index the files but…”  
  
“Want to go get it?”  
  
Tony shakes his head. “You’ll have to leave here, but I can take you to it.”  
  
Steve considers. If the kid’s anything like Howard, he’s probably not going to understand half of what the machine does. Of course, what Steve does understand will probably leave him impressed and curious for more.  
  
He smiles, and this time Tony returns it. It makes him look younger, less jaded and bitter. “Lead the way,” Steve says, and almost bouncing out the door with glee, Tony does.

* * *

5\. Steve is thirty-two and is pretty sure there isn’t anything better than the way Peggy’s smile lights up the entire room as they dance.

“Mr. Rogers,” she asks coyly, “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Why?” he replies guilelessly as he spins her closer to the west end of the room. “Is it working?”

She smiles back at him, dress swishing elegantly around her ankles as they make their way towards the side of the room. They’re perhaps standing a bit too close for propriety, but Steve can’t bring himself to care. Peggy doesn’t seem to be complaining, so he doesn’t try to adjust anything at all.

“Perhaps,” comes her vague reply, but the teasing quirk to her smile says otherwise. “If you want to be truly effectual, of course, you’ll concede the target to me.”

Steve frowns back at her. “You took the one in Rome,” he replies. “I’m fairly certain it’s my turn.”

She raises an eyebrow as she spins, waiting until they’re leaning against each other to reply. “Ah, but you took Venice and Prague,” she replies.

“Still my turn. Remember you took the shots in Berlin and Vienna?”

Peggy frowns at him, and they’re almost within reach of their target. SHIELD’s taken off with the two of them at the helm, and Steve figures it won’t be a bad legacy for two war veterans to leave behind. He’s still amused at what the name alludes to, though.

“Very well, Steven,” Peggy replies. “We appear to be at an impasse. I shall take two, you take the other pair, and the fifth is for whoever gets there first.”

Steve calculates the odds quickly, checking for any easy-to-throw weapons and narrowing his eyes when he realizes the close quarters necessitate hand to hand. The five ex-Hydra agents look decidedly relaxed, considering the proximity of Steve and Peggy to the group. The arms dealer they’re talking to, however, looks less than comforted when he looks up and meets Steve’s gaze.

In fact, he looks downright panicked when he recognizes Captain America staring back at him.

Peggy chuckles against him. They’re within attacking distance of the men and sole woman, and they’ve managed to subtly maneuver so that there’s a space clear of civilians. Steve jerks his head at the arms dealer he vaguely recognizes, and the man goes white.

“Why don’t we finish this outside?” Steve hears him tell the Hydra group.

Apparently, he decided it was better to be with than against Steve and Peggy. When Steve glances at Peggy, he can’t entirely blame the man.

The Hydra agents trickle out of the door, and Peggy steps back from Steve, lacing her fingers in his. “Shall we?” she says.

Steve grins. He might have only been invited because Peggy needed a plus one, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the evening anyway.

“After you, Agent Carter,” comes his cheerfully reply.

Peggy pulls him through the doorway, giggling slightly. The night air is cool and crisp as the wind tickles Steve’s face, and as the door closes behind them, Peggy leans against Steve, fingers resting lightly on his tie.

“Excuse me,” one of the men they’d followed outside says. Steve glances over Peggy’s head to see the Hydra group slowly shifting closer as a unit. There’s a threat in the way they begin to loom closer, and Steve knows it’ll only be a few more steps because their faces become recognizable despite the murky alley lighting. “You can’t be out here.”

Peggy’s hand has pried into his coat, and Steve winces as she reaches for one of the knives concealed in his jacket, the sharp edge nicking his skin. Apparently he’d need to talk to Stark about creating sheaths meant to handle the “really sharp new knives” Howard had handed to him.

“But why not?” Peggy asks, turning her head to look the speaker in the eye even as she slurs her speech. Steve knows that her fingers are slowly tightening on the knife as she pulls Steve closer to her. “We’re just having a bit of fun.”

“Listen, lady-” the apparent spokesperson says, moving closer. The arms dealer Steve had made eye contact with has begun to slowly creep away from the brewing conflict. Steve has no problems with there being one less possible assailant. The chatty Hydra member moves closer, placing his hand on Peggy’s shoulder. “You need to-“

Peggy smiles at him and that’s when she makes her move. Even Steve, who has been expecting her attack, is taken aback by how quickly she has the man on the ground. It only takes him a moment to follow her into action, springing forward to engage the closest man and deliver a swift punch to the jaw.

Peggy clubs the man in throat, springing up to grapple with the next Hydra member. Her clutch is systematically pulled apart so she can use its strap to choke her second victim (Steve can’t help but think of the man as anything besides a victim, as he looks completely dumbfounded at Peggy’s assault). Even Steve has to wince as she knees him from behind, pulling the wire as he crumbles.

Steve and his second Hydra attacker exchange a quick flurry of blows. One of the wild hits catches Steve, and he tastes blood as he bites his lip. Quickly he flips the man, letting him drop to the ground and grimacing as the assailant’s head strikes the ground.

Steve’s taken by surprise as the fifth and final Hydra member jumps him from behind. Apparently, peacetime has been making him sloppy if he’d lost track of the movements around him. Steve slams back against the doorway, hearing the breath go out of the man as he steps back away from the wall. The man’s scrabbling on his face, fingers digging into Steve’s throat as he claws at him.

Steve manages to reach around, pulling one hand away from him when a sharp clang heralds the man’s weight dropping from his back. He turns as the deadweight vanishes and can’t help but smile at the sight of Peggy distastefully dropping the lid of a trash can.

“I had him,” Steve can’t help but protest.

“If I gave you another couple of days, maybe,” Peggy replies, giving him a fond smile as she brushes her hair from her eyes. “There’s no use in waiting until we’re old and grey.”

Steve frowns back at her playfully, absentmindedly adjusting the strap of her dress from where it had shifted to the side in the fight. “Next time’s my turn, then,” he tells her, then adds as an afterthought. “I think we probably have time for at least one more dance before we go.”

Her fingers thread through his once more as she tugs his collar back into place with her spare hand. “Good call, Mr. Rogers,” she says. “I wouldn’t want to have to wait until next time for my next dance.”

 


End file.
